Page 26 of Phoenix Fire

Danzetti rapped again just as Carlton opened the door, brushed roughly by him, uttering some monosyllabic epithets under his breath. Carlton smiled thinly as he stepped out into the short hall. It was a small pleasure to be relished while Carlton contemplated his sad state of affairs.

Carlton went to the small bar in the front corner of the hotel suite and mixed himself a straight Jack Daniels on the rocks. He took it down in two swallows and filled his highball glass again to the top rim. The bourbon burn spread through him, and his mouth puckered involuntarily with each gulp.

The fall of poker chips, tinkling glasses, and muted voices at the green felt table filtered through the smoke in the suite. He stood watching for a few minutes, debated what he should do: leave, or, another marker?

He finished his Jack Daniels and had another, another, yet another, until he became fuzzy and light headed. “Too much too fast,” he mumbled. “Three minutes and I'm half crocked. Gotta slow down.” He looked drearily toward the gaming table where the thick pall of smoke hung overhead, where so much of his money was still in play. He heard the ice banging against the glasses, the voices raising the pot, anxious and impatient. He heard the barely audible music playing in the background.

Carlton's mind suddenly shifted to thoughts of Jenny Mason.

He had some fun with her. Hopefully, his ploys would cause some friction between Jenny and his brother. That was part of the plan, to cause grief for Jason, just some gratuitous grief for his 'holier than thou' do good sibling.

Ah, but there was another part to Carlton's fun and games. The truth was that Jenny Mason had indeed rang his bell. She was lovely of body and there was something magnetic about her, something intangible that made her all the more attractive and desirable. The truth was that he really wanted her, Games and all, saintly brother and all, he really wanted her. He wanted her even more than he thought he wanted her.

Jenny should not have hung up on him. She should not have made her telephone unavailable to him. He had not expected that from her. At first, her hang ups and subsequent no answer had merely amused him. The amusement had turned to anger.

Carlton had another Jack Daniels. In the middle of his pouring Danzetti came out of the bathroom and up to the bar. He had a long stay in the john and he was in a playful mood.

Danzetti leaned on the padded rim of the bar, a phony and sleazy smile pasted on his face. He stared inanely at Carlton and spoke, “I got the room all ready for you now, hot shot. I gave it a little character just for you. Maybe it'll help your luck at the poker table.”

“You're disgusting,” Carlton said a bit too boldly, with just a slight hint of a slur. Danzetti quickly noticed the booze consumption.

“You don't drink any better than you play cards, Prince. What you need is another marker. You would be happy again for maybe an hour or two, and I would own your ass.”

“Danzetti, I don't believe Mr. Lupo pays you to annoy the players. Maybe he should be told of your pushy personality.” Carlton felt the bourbon dancing within his blood and brain, producing what he thought might be a higher awareness.

A player barked from the poker table, “Hey, Prince! You getting back in the game? Your seat's getting cold. The game's not as exciting without your money on the table. You in or out?”

Danzetti smiled again. He knew that Carlton would need to go through him to get back in the game. “What say, big shot? Another marker?”

Carlton did not speak. He drained his new Jack Daniels and returned his own sneering smile. Then, he surprised Danzetti, the other players, and even himself.

With only a brusque wave of his hand, he left the hotel suite.

“Hey, where you going, Prince? It's too early to be quitting ..”

The voice came from the poker table and faded with the closing door.

Chapter Seventeen

The night air felt good on his perspiring body, and he enjoyed the cooling chill it gave him. He looked up into the wide bright sky and slowed his jogging gait, finally stopping. Looking all around he found an odd shaped boulder on which to sit. He needed to take a break.

His breathing was fast and labored when he first sat on the rock, then diminished to a steady cadence. He had run for nearly five miles, something of a record for him. His normal run was three miles. He had gotten away from his running routine the past few weeks and really expected to falter long before now. Somehow, he had passed through that invisible wall that serious runners know about, had gotten his second and third winds, and had surprised himself with the length of his run.

Jason was unable to sleep. His mind had tormented him with thoughts until he had finally despaired of sleeping. The dull monotony of the bed, the tossing and turning, had eventually dictated his decision to run.

As he sat now hunched over on the boulder, his hands on his knees, he nodded and smiled. The smile was self-deprecating, an acknowledgment of his current mindset. He wondered if he might be the only man in the valley out jogging tonight. Although he did not know the precise time he reckoned that it must be near 3:00 AM in the morning. It was not very bright to be out at this time in the world today. The 'night people' were out, the 'slashers' and all the evil doers. He was not concerned so much. There were not too many evil doers in this area of the valley.

The long run had helped him to some extent. The roiling thoughts was not reconciled in any sense, but he felt better. He always felt better after a good run. “Better to face them with,” he mimicked in the silence of the night.

Jason lifted his eyes to the brilliant sky. The stars danced and the planets sat fixed in their destined space spots, beguiling and esoteric. He sat perplexed by what to do about the events strongly exerting themselves into his life.

He wiped his gritty brow on the upper short sleeves of his tee shirt and breathed deeply of the pleasant night air. The smell of orange blossoms was on the early morning breeze. Sounds of crickets and distant cars broke the otherwise exalted stillness. He allowed the thoughts to come.

His beloved Grandma Myrena was dying, and he was not handling this reality very well. Death was a fact of life, a rather devious positioning of words, he mused. Grandma Myrena had lived a full and rich life. Why could he not accept the fact of her impending death with less anxiety? Because she was bigger to him than life. In some ambiguous way he thought her indomitable and enduring. It seemed strange to him now that he had never really considered her death, not in all the years. Yes, that was weird, particularly with death all around. Perhaps it was a subconscious convenience for him not to consider her death.

Grandma Myrena was, after all, his entire world for all the years after his parents was killed in that fateful traffic accident. She was there for him, to encourage and to applaud his achievements. He had become so much more dependent upon her than he ever realized. The inevitability of it all overwhelmed him. He felt wimpy in his preoccupation with Grandma Myrena, his rather childish denial of a natural process.

His brother was another kind of reality. Jason wondered what he could have done differently over the years to have made their sibling relationship more compatible, more caring, and more important to them both. There was a time when they had seemed so close, there in those young days of hikes, camping, Cowboys and Indians; there in the high desert where they so often went. They had lost that sibling closeness and Jason was unable to determine which of them was more to blame.

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